Invariably when wine redeems the sight,
Narrowing the mustard scansions of the eyes,
A leopard ranging always in the brow
Asserts a vision in the slumbering gaze.
from "The Wine Menagerie"
This is the best picture that Elegant Choice managed to take of me in the three seconds after I had applied large gobs of stone-ground mustard to my face and before that same mustard began to burn so, so badly. So badly. So badly that I hardly had the strength to Photoshop a gangling bald man tattooed like a jungle cat onto my forehead--I persevered, though, and I'm so glad I did. I hope to God you people appreciate my daily sacrifices.
That, that -- is my father.
ReplyDeleteHe's everybody's father, anonymous. He's the father of all.
ReplyDeleteTattooing that Tina Fey avatar on your own face would be a good start, Cuchu. Or maybe I should do it! There is plenty of space on my apparently giant chin.
Oh sweet honey-mustard mother of leopards. I'm speechless
ReplyDeleteAnd that, Ana, is how I like my women--to the point where I myself speak only furtively to the cat for days on end.
ReplyDeleteIn ancient Gaul the Poupons, a race of primitive sandwich makers, used to rub hot mustard on their genitals as a form of birth control. Not surprisingly, they also coined the expression "hot sex."
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDeleteOh Admiral, where have you been? Hart Crane demands you put your peerless skills to work in his service!
ReplyDelete